


Never Let Me Go

by DamnDanton



Series: Washette one-shots [4]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Cuddling and Snuggling, I'm Sorry, Light Angst, Lots of talk about death, M/M, Mentions of Death, Valley Forge, dreams about death, references to the glorification of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-21 00:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9521921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamnDanton/pseuds/DamnDanton
Summary: It's Valley Forge again. It's cold again, and it's beginning to take its toll on everyone- George Washington included. He worries about his men, and one man more than any other. He sleeps, but he is plagued by the most disturbing nightmares about the man he loves, the Marquis de Lafayette.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! It's been a while, hasn't it? I actually wrote this a while ago, I just never got around to writing it. Oops. As you may be able to tell, I REALLY love Valley Forge fics. This little fic was inspired by two poems: 'To an Athlete Dying Young' by A.E. Housman, and 'Futility' by Wilfred Owen. Everyone should read 'Futility', it's a very sad poem but it's so good. Honestly, everyone should just read anything and everything by Wilfred Owen. This is by no means me glorifying death. I'm with Owen on this one- death is not glorious at all. Sorry, Housman.
> 
> See the end for translations. I hope you enjoy!

Death is not beautiful. It's not violet eyelids and pale lips. It's not white faces and a peaceful countenance. It's not hands clasped feebly across the stomach, holding a bouquet of lilies. It's not glamorous. It's not beautiful.

Yet this is how George imagines it. In his dreams, he is haunted by visions of one man, lying on the ground, snowflakes in his soft red hair, dead. Beautiful, as he is in life, but dead. The Marquis de Lafayette is a beautiful man- one of the most beautiful that George has ever seen- and every morning, when George wakes up a few moments before the boy, he looks the same: pale. Always so pale, but so peaceful. He looks like an angel, his hair like a halo around him, the weak light reflecting off his skin. And before George can grow too panicked, Lafayette's eyelids flutter as he wakes. George can never quite keep his sigh of relief to himself.

This is where George finds himself now, looking at the young Frenchman as he sleeps. His breathing is quiet but a blissful reminder as to how alive he is. When the boy awakes, the shame always descends. George should not feel like this. He should not watch Lafayette as he sleeps. He should not feel so protective of him. He should not be so obsessed with constantly checking his beating heart. Yet still, when the next morning comes around, George cannot help himself.

Lafayette's eyes open, just as they do every morning, and George quickly looks away to hide the fact that he was staring. As always, the former is oblivious. He squints and rubs his eyes once, before greeting, 'Good morning, George.'

George glances back at the marquis and smiles softly. 'Good morning, Gilbert.'

Lafayette returns the smile, albeit a little sleepily still. He turns over in the bed that they share- to conserve warmth, of course- away from George and sighs. 'I normally love the snow. But I can't be happy about something that is killing the men.'

George gulped. He tentatively held his hand out and rubbed Lafayette's shoulder through his sleeping shift. 'You must not worry, Marquis. Our men are strong. Soldiers are always dying, we are hardly an anomaly.'

Lafayette sighs. 'You are right, of course. You must think me terribly foolish.' He bites his lip, and George is unaware as to whether Lafayette realises the effect that it has on him.

'Not at all,' replies George at once. 'Tenderness is often forgotten during war, it is nice to hold onto it. But,' he adds, his hand sliding down Lafayette's arm to clasp his hand, 'you must not worry, my marquis. We are both quite safe, and our men are strong.' It's a lie and both of them know it.

However, it is enough for Lafayette. He smiles weakly and squeezes George's hand. 'Thank you, mon général. As always, you are the voice of reason. A truly enlightened general.' Then he gets up to face the day.

*

In his dreams, those visions haunt him. The snow is killing the men, just as Lafayette said. But there, hidden away in a forest clearing, is the boy himself. His eyes are closed, his face drained of colour. The weak sunlight coming in through the trees reflects off the snow and his skin, making him glow. He looks ethereal. His body makes no dent in the glistening carpet of snow. It is as if he is truly an angel.

The snow crunches under George's feet as he approaches the marquis. Of course he is sad, but not as sad as his conscious self would have expected. His dream self feels... proud. Proud of the boy for making such a sacrifice. He is now America's martyr, and Washington kneels before him like a priest at an altar.

'Look at you,' whispers George, but the voice that comes from his mouth is not his own, but that of his inner demons. 'Dead for America. My sweet boy.' He brushes a stray red hair behind his ice-cold ears. 'You'll never lose your glory, Marquis. You will stay exactly as you are: young and beautiful. Forever. So pretty,' he coos, cupping Lafayette's cheek. 'Never changing, always so perfect. You will be worshipped. And I will make it happen...' George falters as he gradually begins to come back to himself. Tears suddenly sting his eyes as he realises the horror of the situation. The weight of the world falls on his shoulders and his lungs feel like they're tightening, constricting him. The boy he looks down upon is no longer beautiful: he's dead, dead as dead can be. And it hurts. It hurts so much. George gasped in a breath and his hands instinctively flew to Lafayette's shoulders. He held the boy in a vice and shook him. 'Lafayette!' he cried. 'Lafayette!' He looked hopelessly up at the sun and cursed. 'Gilbert!'

'Lafayette!' George woke with a start, air flooding into his lungs as he panted. A dream, thank God. Just a horrid, horrid dream. He collapsed back into his bed and heaved a sigh of relief.

But the body beside him was turning over, his eyes wide, his lower lip trembling. 'Général?' he questioned. 'George, it's just me, it's just Gilbert. Are you all right?'

'Yes, thank you, Gilbert,' George replied. 'I'm quite all right. I just had a bad dream, that's all.'

Lafayette neither looked nor felt any more assured. 'Is there anything I can do to help? Do you want to talk about it.'

"No," George wanted to say. But before he could respond on that whim he considered Lafayette's question. These nightmares showed no signs of ceasing. Before long, all this lost sleep would begin to take its toll. And what would the men do without their commander? Lafayette was George's closest friend; of course he would understand, would be kind, and offer support where it could be given. George sat up and Lafayette swiftly followed. Then George leant back to reach a candle and some matches. He lit the candle and placed it at the foot of the bed, giving the dark tent adequate light for the two of them to see each other clearly.

He took a deep breath and looked into Lafayette's wide, worried eyes. 'I...' he stammered, 'I have these awful dreams... about death. And you.'

'Me?' questioned Lafayette, a little startled.

George nodded. 'My mind...' He faltered and looked down into his lap. 'God, this is so wrong.'

Lafayette placed a reassuring hand on George's shoulder. 'Please tell me. I won't judge. It's all right.'

George sighed. 'My subconscious mind is preoccupied. With your death.'

Lafayette froze. 'My death?'

George nodded, ashamed. 'I don't know why.' The corners of his eyes began to blur as the tears come. 'I don't know why,' he repeated. 'But I have these dreadful, dreadful dreams. You're dead, and there's nothing that I can do to help you. Something's trying to tell me that you look beautiful when you're dead but... you don't. You're dead, and that's not beautiful at- at.' He could not finish his sentence, the lump in his throat nearly choking him. Hot tears streaked down his face. He could not bear looking at Lafayette in this moment of weakness.

Lafayette was more than slightly disturbed. To know that such destructive and horrific thoughts were plaguing him! Lafayette suppressed a shudder, and rubbed George's shoulder in what he hoped came across as an affectionate manner. After some time thinking, he said, 'George, I think that you are afraid.'

George nodded helplessly.

'You're afraid,' Lafayette repeated. 'For the soldiers, for me, for yourself as well, I think.' He exhaled sharply and tried to gather his thoughts when all he wanted to do was to hold his general and never let him go. But he could not. He had to be strong. He had to be strong for George. 'You're worried about us, that the cold will kill us. I don't doubt,' he swallowed, 'that it will kill some people. But I promise,' he added quickly, when George looked up at him, abject horror on his face at the thought of Lafayette succumbing to the snow, 'that we will not falter. Our men are strong. Like you say, armies always lose men, we are no different. We will never be any different. George, you know that I have been buying coats and blankets for myself, and for our soldiers. We will be able to hold out. I promise. You have my word. I told you that I would not leave your side until this war is won, and I will never break that vow, so help me God.'

George was speechless, his eyes wide in adoration and his lips parted. The conviction and passion in Lafayette's voice! It made George want to sweep him into his arms and hug him until the bastard winter was over. George had no idea what he could possibly say that would even be comparable to what Lafayette had just said. The corners of his lips twitched and George looked down at the floor, unable to meet Lafayette's eyes. He smiled and felt so full of warmth, so full of happiness towards his friend- his friend, who so obviously cared about him just as much as George cared about him.

'Gilbert,' he stammered, his smile unwavering, 'I- I don't know what to say.'

Lafayette took George's hand in his and squeezed it. 'Don't say anything. Just believe me.'

The look that George gave him made Lafayette gasp. He bit his lip and blushed, giggling a little. George thought that he looked adorable.

'Thank you,' George whispered, running his thumb over Lafayette's knuckles.

'You must not worry, George,' Lafayette said sternly. 'Please. The men need their leader. I...' He swallowed and looked painfully nervous. 'I need you.'

George smiled and lifted Lafayette's hand to his lips. 'I need you too, Gilbert. Oh, God, what would I do without you?' he croaked.

Lafayette smiled sweetly and placed his free hand on George's knee. 'We should sleep, George. You can't have all your wits about you with a tired head.' He clasped George's hands and looked into his eyes, his expression soft. 'I'm always here. I'm here, I'm with you, I'm safe with you. If there's ever anything you want to talk to me about, please, just ask. You're my friend, and I care about you.'

George nodded. 'Thank you, Gilbert. Thank you for this.'

'You must not worry,' replied Lafayette, as he leant back to lie in his bed. They were still holding hands.

George followed the motions of his friend, not letting go of Lafayette's warm hands. He asked no questions when Lafayette snuggled up close to him, nor when he lay his head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around Lafayette's waist, pulling him even closer.

'Goodnight, mon cheri,' mumbled Lafayette into the space between George's neck and shoulder.

'Goodnight, my love,' whispered George. He felt Lafayette smile against his skin.

*

When George dreamed that night, he still saw snow. He still saw Lafayette lying down, eyes closed. Yet this time, his face was not so white. His lips were red, his cheeks had a blush to them that George knew well. Lafayette shivered.

'Marquis,' asked George, a smile in his voice, 'what on Earth are you doing?'

Lafayette groaned. 'Tired.'

George chuckled. 'Well come with me. You'll catch your death out here.'

'I want to sleep,' Lafayette whined.

George rolled his eyes and knelt down before him, just as he had before. However, instead of praising a martyr, he worked his hands underneath Lafayette's body and lifted the marquis up into his arms.

Lafayette yelped in surprise. 'What are you doing?' he asked with mock anger, his wide grin giving him away.

'I'm taking you somewhere safe.'

Lafayette cupped George's face with his hands. 'Would that place, perhaps, be our bed?'

George stopped underneath a tree to shelter them from the light snow. Then he stretched his neck a little so that he could close the distance between the two of them to press his lips against Lafayette's.

George had never had such a good night's sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> Mon general: my general, Sir


End file.
